hand, she turned and, encountering my anxious look, bitterly remarked:

"We need not have made those arrangements this morning. Seven regrets in
this mail and two in the early one. Nine regrets in all! and I sent out
only ten invitations. What is the meaning of it? I begin to feel myself
ostracized."

I did not understand it any more than she did.

"Invite others," I suggested, and was sorry for my presumption the next
minute.

Her poor lip trembled.

"I do not dare," she whispered. "Oh, what will Mr. Packard say! Some one
or something is working against us. We have enemies--enemies, and Mr.
Packard will never get his election."

Her trouble was natural and so was her expression of it. Feeling for
her, and all the more that the cause of this concerted action against
her was as much a mystery to me as it was to herself, I made some
attempt to comfort her, which was futile enough, God knows. She heard my
voice, no doubt, but she gave no evidence of noting what I said. When I
had finished--that is, when she no longer heard me speaking--she let her
head droop and presently I heard her murmur:

"It seems to me that if for any reason he fails to get his election I
shall wish to die."

She was in this state of dejection, with the echo of this sad sentence
in both our ears, when a light tap at the door was followed by
the entrance of Letty, the nurse-maid. She wore an unusual look of
embarrassment and held something crushed in her hand. Mrs. Packard
advanced hurriedly to meet her.

"What is it?" she interrogated sharply, like one expectant of evil
tidings.

"Nothing! that is, not much," stammered the frightened girl, attempting
to thrust her hand behind her back.

But Mrs. Packard was too quick for her.

"You have something there! What is it? Let me see."

The girl's hand moved forward reluctantly. "A paper which I found pinned
to the baby's coat when I took her out of the carriage," she faltered.
"I--I don't know what it means."

Mrs. Packard's eyes opened wide with horror. She seized the paper and
staggered with it to one of the windows. While she looked at it, I cast
a glance at Letty. She was crying, from what looked like pure fear; but
it was the fear of ignorance rather than duplicity; she appeared as much
mystified as ourselves.

Meanwhile I felt, rather than saw, the old shadow settling fast upon
the head of her who an hour before had been so bright. She had chosen a
place where her form could not